


Lessons Well-Learned

by GoldenThreads



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Bad Parenting, Gen, Invented tea etiquette, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenThreads/pseuds/GoldenThreads
Summary: At eight and eighty, Ferdinand ponders the Noble Tea.[For Ferdinand Week, Nobility + Past and Future]
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: Ferdinand Week 2021





	Lessons Well-Learned

_**Imperial Year 1170** _

“Shoulders.”

Ferdinand flinched back an inch and lifted his chin two degrees, eyes darting to his mother for approval. The embroidery of his collar cut deeply into the sides of his neck that weren’t pinched by his over-starched cravat. His hands remained folded on the white tablecloth, and no matter how his stomach ached and roared, he did not so much as glance at the tower of sandwiches on the table.

“Your posture is lax,” she sighed, toneless save for the impression of breath. “I will have words with your tutors. If you cannot retain your poise for twenty minutes, I shudder to think how you will fare before the eyes of the masses.”

A lump of hot iron rose in Ferdinand’s throat. Quickly, before the tears could spring, he imagined taking it to the blacksmith’s iron and forging it into a stiffer backbone. “I will do better, Mother.”

His profession swept by her as meaningless as the breeze. She said nothing. Only when a servant began to rattle closer with the tea trolley did she raise a hand, staying their course. 

A test. 

Of what? Perhaps they were meant to converse before the service began — Ferdinand reached for the gossip of the upcoming opera season, of which he had only heard from his mother, which meant she knew everything already and would surely be bored, but so too would his new exploits with training lance and shield be of little interest to her, and his books were so slim next to the grand tomes she perused in her leisure, and—

Under the table, his mother’s foot pressed down sharply upon his anxiously tapping toes. 

“Do not bother with the tea,” the Duchess instructed the staff.

“But—!”

“We will proceed with water until you are worthy of more than _pity,”_ she snapped. “I will not waste fine stock upon you. Behave yourself or I shall have it replaced with lemon again.”

Ferdinand quieted in an instant. That had been among his first lessons, sipping a cup of curdled lemon paste until he could both control the speed of his sip and wipe all emotion from his expression save that which his mother requested. 

The servant brought over the teapot, already set to the borderline of boiling by the enchanted tray. For a true tea service there would be no such magical accoutrements, which were used only by merchants who valued efficiency more than artistry. Even the household staff took their tea with a plain pot and wooden tray so as to linger in each other’s company. 

The Duchess merely wanted to get this over with.

“May I serve, Mother?” Ferdinand cursed himself at once, for _might I serve you?_ would have been better. Unless that revealed too much desperation? It was simply a polite request — a lady ought never to serve a gentleman! — but the game was to discern his mother’s mind without being told or masterfully take control of the table. A tall order at eight years of age, yet well within the abilities of the heir to the Aegir name!

She scoffed. “Are you the host or the guest?”

Was this another test? The host, for his rights as heir legally outstripped those of the Duchess; the guest, for he depended upon her for education and succor. Ferdinand bit his tongue secretly within his mouth so that even his jaw would not twitch. “I can perform whichever role you ask of me.”

She took the teapot in hand. The guest, then. The same as always. Last time, Ferdinand had clinked his spoon against the side of his cup and earned such ire, but after practicing with a pen in his water glass for two weeks, he would surely now excel! And someday, when he was at last deemed worthy of hosting his dear mother, he would excel at that, too.

“Do you understand why we are here, Ferdinand?” the Duchess asked as she delicately tipped the pot and sent a smooth, unbroken stream of water tumbling into the first teacup.

“To perfect my tea service,” Ferdinand blurted. How foolish to use the first words that sprang to his untempered mind! “As future Prime Minister of Adrestia, it is of utmost importance that I master the arts of hospitality and amity—”

“There is no amity in _tea,”_ she snapped. One of her precisely arranged eyebrows lifted like a bow strung too taut. “A table is a stage for control. Be it the Imperial Council, the dining hall, or the parlor, all of these are naught but fields of war. As Prime Minister you must know this, Ferdinand. The finery and flavor are inconsequential. Indulge your interest in them as you will, if the prestige of such knowledge accrues to your own name, but do not lose sight of your true aim.”

Ferdinand’s gaze darted to the prim braid crowning his mother’s head, desperate to keep the sudden flash of moisture in his eyes from spilling, yet unable to incline his head without further criticism. How silly of him to forget the seriousness of their training! Thankfully, his mother never allowed him to truly stray. 

A stage, yes — the tablecloth no different from the curtain at the opera house, signaling the beginning and end of a distinct performance. His stomach twisted as he glanced to the tower of sandwiches and scones. Make way, flavor! As a soldier swallowed whatever gruel and biscuits were supplied, spirit untrammeled, so could he toss aside such frippery at heart. These lessons would serve him well on his pursuit of that illustrious goal: Nobility!

Once the cups were full, the Duchess set the teapot back on the table, the spout naturally facing her way. 

“When you join society, you must always serve. Practically, it is your final defense against anyone tampering with the product in your hands. Metaphorically, it displays your command of all that lies within your domain. Within the palace, the Vestras traditionally perform the service. Not so when your father sups with the Marquis. He drives the wretch into a supplicant’s mode with no more than water and porcelain, and in return he gains the deference he is due.”

Confused, Ferdinand asked, “Even though they are friends?”

“Shoulders.”

He twisted back into shape and stared at his cup until she nodded for him to begin. With the intensity of a painter, he transferred his spoon to the top of the teacup and stirred. Not back and forth, not side to side. Not with a single noise. He simply envisioned a clock and traced a path between twelve and six o’clock.

“When I take tea with fellow noblewomen, it is not to forge storybook bonds. It is to establish pecking order.” She brought the cup to her lips with perfect technique, yet a sliver of her sharp smile broke over the golden rim. “And when I _decline_ tea, it draws a line in the sand which cannot be ignored.”

The Duchess had never taken tea with the Imperial consorts, Ferdinand knew. But a line between them made no sense. Emperor and Prime Minister could only function in harmony…

Perhaps the politics of women were simply more complicated than the politics of men. Ferdinand had seen his father at ease in the parlor smoking and drinking with other lords often enough. 

“You may sample the provisions,” she announced, her cold grandeur sending a shiver of admiration down his spine. Truly, no one controlled a room like his mother, not even his Princess at the Mittelfrank!

Ferdinand reached first for a sandwich on the middle tray. A burst of strawberry and cream lit up his senses, and though he sent a prayer of thanks toward the maids who had prepared such sumptuousness, he made sure to think only of sawdust. The scones were harder to ignore once clinically dissected and slathered in cream and jam, but he persevered. He would not smile even once. He would show his mother that he, too, could control a table.

“Someday you will enter Society. If you have not sharpened your teeth — if you elicit alliances based upon frail _friendship_ — then they will eat you whole.” The Duchess returned her cup to its saucer for the final time.

He had not finished his cup. “Mother?”

“That will do for today.”

“May we not…converse?” he asked, stricken by how pitiful the words sounded. He stared down at his wavering reflection in the clear, warm water of his teacup.

“Such histrionics are not becoming of a guest, Ferdinand. Mind yourself.” 

The Duchess stood and extracted herself from the table, all rules of etiquette hastily surrendered in her burgeoning boredom. Yet something on his face stalled her, and with the softest sigh, she acquiesced to a promise most solemn.

“If you ever have something of value to display, then you may play host and borrow my ear as much as you wish.”

  


* * *

  


_**Imperial Year 1242** _

“And then, and then he took the cake right there in front of _everyone_ and nobody was even gonna stop him until Josie said he was never gonna be a knight if he couldn’t even make a birthday cake for his mom and had to _steal_ one, and she was right! So then Bruno started crying. _We_ didn’t make him cry, he made himself cry with evil deeds! But Josie said we wouldn’t be real nobles if we left someone crying, even if they’re a meanie, so we brought him to tea time. Can you be extra nice to him, Sir Ferdie? But don’t let him _know_ I told you to be nice. It’s like you taught us, sometimes people only meet mean people so they think they gotta be mean, too, but you’re so nice, so I thought—”

“I shall be most gracious to the young man.” Ferdinand raised an arm across his chest as though swearing a bow most solemn. “But I fear we will be late for tea if we tarry much longer.”

The girl, Colette, craned on her tiptoes to get a glance at the clock. “Two to two!!”

He gasped in dread horror. “Quickly, my dear! The baskets!”

Colette dashed off for the picnic baskets while Ferdinand put the finishings on their sandwiches. He wrapped the twin jars of strawberry jam and peach marmalade with vaguely white napkins that would keep all the sticky stains in check, then pulled the fresh gingerbread and pumpkin scones from the cooling rack where his morning maid had left them. A light dusting of sugar and into the box they went. When Colette returned, she packed up all the food lickity-split and bolted on out the door, down the hill, and into the vast meadow beyond.

Chuckling under his breath at the eagerness of youth, Ferdinand packed his own basket with dishware and twin kettles: one enchanted, one plain. Some of the village children took pride in demonstrating their rudimentary magic by heating the pot for tea service. He’d already lost six pots to such overenthusiastic hands. Best to have a backup. 

Selecting the tea was effortless: the ever-dependable Hresvelg could be loaded with milk and honey and sugar to taste. Ferdinand spooned out enough for seconds and sealed up the paper packet before tucking it into his breast pocket, the brown triangle sticking out like a folded kerchief.

All that remained was to choose the tea sets. He had never quite gotten the hang of this most dire choice — or at least never inured himself to the doubts, the regrets that trailed him until his partner at the table at last showed a smile. Now the burden sat strangely upon his old bones, less for the sake of his guests and more for…

He shook his head. No time for the past when the future called. 

Taking a deep breath that stretched his vest’s seams to the fullest, Ferdinand raised a hand to the lacquered mahogany of his display cabinet. 

“Hello, my friends.”

A full menagerie leapt out in glorious detail, each shelf and partition dividing the zoo into its separate enclosures. Double-breasted eagles soaring golden through streaming red banners, a pride of sapphire-limned lions perched with strange gentleness on cups too small for half their bearers. A chipped pastor’s set of whirling stars and sea serpents, passed to him when styles irreparably changed in the rural churches. Edmundian bluebirds with silver starlings on each delicate handle. A knot of tawny Brigidian hens, the iridescent emerald lines of their plumage trailing off into the angular drift of wind and water. A brass samovar and glass cups engraved with jousting stags (he would need to remember to dust it for when the Almyran embassy passed through Aegir next month), the 200th anniversary special edition set put out by the tea shop next to the Mittelfrank, and, tucked far in the back behind another dozen sets, the plain porcelain worth more than his home and all his lands combined. The only inheritance his mother left him.

For today, he selected the bluebirds (still in production), a kitschy souvenir set covered in purple pegasi (always popular), and, just in case, a brace of eagles. The saucers remained safely in the cabinet.

Once everything was carefully wrapped and tucked safely within his baskets, Ferdinand hung them from the crook of his elbow and began his own journey to the meadow. A tune sprang from his lips as he strolled through the grassy hills, the sun warming his shoulders and bare pate. From the crest of the hill he could peer down at the long quilt the children had spread out on the valley’s even ground.

A quick count of heads — ten usual suspects and a new boy, twitchy and unsure, who must be their lawless Bruno.

“Sir Ferdie!” they all chirped as he descended. One of the elder boys rushed forward to hover at his elbow, but every single one of them sprang to their feet just the same. 

Beaming, Ferdinand sketched a bow as soon as he reached the edge of the quilt. One never sat before their host joined the table. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my dears. Might I invite you to join me for tea?”

_“All_ of us?” asked Josie, eying their troublemaker suspiciously.

“Of course.” Ferdinand gestured for them all to sit. “In fact, this is just what I wished to discuss at our meeting this week. Delphine, if you would?”

A girl with her hair pulled back in a tangle of braids cleared her throat. “We, the Nobility League of Trier Village, have gathered here this second Thursday of the Garland Moon, under the auspices of Virtue.”

It was not quite a prayer, much less an oath, but it served them well enough. “Marvelously done. Now.” He clapped his hands. “Take a cup, each of you.”

Twenty hands reached at once for the basket, ravenous even in their reverence. Josie snapped up one of the purple pegasi with her usual zeal, and four of the bluebirds found homes in the laps of quieter children. As the others fought for the remaining pegasi cups in a game of lots, Ferdinand set aside an eagle for himself and offered the other to Bruno.

“Have tea with us. All these trappings — it is a fanciful game that delights us, but in truth we are here for a cheerful meal and sharing of thoughts. Have no fear of misstep, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” mumbled the boy.

He was still a bit too cowed for Ferdinand’s liking. One could push a man’s face in his misdeeds as much as one liked, but shame and arrogance both warped a soul alike. 

Ferdinand passed the kettles over for one lad to fill in the brook, then busied himself setting out the rest of the tea service. He could lose himself so easily in this comfortable routine, and more than once the children had had to pull him from maudlin reverie, his hands shaking as handled the napkins. He needed them here, bright and garrulous, far more than they would ever need him.

When the kettles returned and were successfully heated, Ferdinand passed around the little stone discs that would allow them to set their cups on a more even surface than ground or quilt below. 

“I asked you last time to consider the tenets of nobility that matter most to you. I fear I have begun to forget them in my old age, so I wondered if you might remind me?” He let his voice trail away, doddering and frail, even as he ended with a wink.

“Make room at the table for _everyone,”_ announced the youngest lass, a mere slip of a thing with a booming voice. 

“One of my favorites!” Ferdinand grinned as he reached out to fill her cup.

“Be kind to the creatures that depend on you.”

“Just so!”

“Support the downtreaded—” A whisper of aid. “Downtrodden!”

“Very good.”

And so they went around the circle with Ferdinand filling every cup in turn. Some of the children waited patiently for everyone to be served, others waited wisely, and two hasty brats burned their tongues the first instant. 

“Always help your mother,” a boy named Theodore declared, which set off a desperately philosophical conversation about the proper noble course if one’s mother was evil. Only after holding their breaths for thirty seconds and breaking a friendship biscuit together did everyone agree upon a proper amendment: to always help _Theodore’s mother,_ because she was a saint.

After ten cups of tea, dozens of spoonfuls of sugar, and some creative use of honey to rim one teacup, the only one left unserved was the newcomer. The boy had stared at them all in growing confusion and said not a word, which Ferdinand hoped meant he was considering their words deeply. 

“And what do you imagine nobility is about, young maser Bruno?”

Ducking his head, Bruno glanced about for some clue to the answer. His eyes landed on the empty bowl of his teacup, then flicked to the similarly empty state of Ferdinand’s own cup. 

A host never partook until every guest was served.

“Like…you, sir.” Bruno rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “My da says you’re the last noble left round here.”

Ferdinand inclined his head into something not quite a nod. “By some definitions. In the old world, nobility was a matter of blood. Now it is a matter of spirit, and it is all the better for it.”

“Spirit?” the boy repeated, then jolted as that answer earned him a sudden pouring in tea into his cup.

“Unyielding spirit — a fine tenet, that. But I think we could develop it further. Can you think on it for me? I would be most eager to discuss it with you over tea.”

Bruno gaped at him, then turned that same bewilderment on the children to either side of him as they offered the cream and sugar. Another elbowed Ferdinand gently until he finally served himself as well.

At last, Ferdinand cleared his throat and opened the box of treats — precisely which one silenced the children, none could say. “You are all welcome to my table, fine young spirits of nobility! I eagerly await the tales of excellence you shall share. But for now, enjoy your biscuits and don’t skimp on the jam.”


End file.
